Sherlock Holmes--A Betrayal in Blood

by Mark A. Latham

  “Very well, Mr Holmes. I do not know why, but I trust you. But I do not need to tell you the contents of the letters, for I still have them.”

  “You kept them from the police?”

  “I did, but please do not think ill of me. I did it only to protect Lucy’s good name; by the time I came to realise something more was at play, I had told a lie too many, and could think of no way to hand the letters over without coming under suspicion myself. None of that matters now, Mr Holmes. I can spare you a little more time to fetch the letters, if you would be so kind as to escort me, and then perhaps it will feel like a great burden has at last been lifted from my shoulders.”

  * * *

  We stood across the road from the school, beneath the shade of the elms that lined the road. I had the letters tucked under my arm, for both Holmes and I agreed it would be unseemly to read such private memoranda on the street. Some were in plain white envelopes, which Miss Reed identified as being from Mina Murray, as she was then. The remainder were from Lucy Westenra, and were all in lavender-scented envelopes, tied together with a pretty ribbon. Holmes paced back and forth, drawing the last of his cigarette and exhaling the smoke in a great plume.

  “It all fits into place! In her diary, Mina wrote that Jonathan was particularly shaken on the day of Mr Hawkins’s funeral. She postulates in the note that perhaps it is her husband’s recent brain fever, coupled with the sombre funeral, which makes him so nervous. I should have seen it instantly.”

  “What?” I asked. “Surely it was just sentimentality—the Harkers were much attached to Mr Hawkins, after all.”

  “Jonathan Harker was shaken because he had a tryst with Miss Reed on the day of the funeral. I cannot prove it, but I know now from Miss Reed’s words that it is so.”

  “Holmes, that is a scandalous accusation. The poor girl was most upset, and your questions were singularly intrusive.”

  “They were, and yet they were necessary. She may well have confessed all when I asked her about the funeral, Watson, or it may have been that the private moment she undoubtedly shared with Harker was purely innocent, but I saw no reason to disgrace the poor girl by making her relive any wrongdoing on the part of herself or Harker.

  “If Harker was shaken on the day of the funeral, I would guess he was discovered in the act, probably by Mina, and that somehow this detail was later discovered by Professor Van Helsing. From that day forth, the professor manipulated Mina’s jealous nature, which we have today heard a great deal about, and turned her against her husband. It does not matter if Harker and Miss Reed were acting purely innocently; we know from Miss Reed’s testimony that Mina Harker has a jealous nature, which could easily be manipulated by mere insinuation. Coupled with the story of the strange, seductive women of Castle Dracula, and we have a very solid reason for Mina’s estrangement from her husband.

  “Perhaps Harker himself believes his tale, due to his long spell of delirium shortly afterwards. Whether the encounter happened as he described, or even at all, is another thing entirely. What matters here, however, is what Mina Harker believes. And that, Watson, is almost certainly whatever Van Helsing has told her.”

  “It seems to me that Mina Harker is a wronged woman,” I said, “led astray perhaps by the professor. We should feel sorry for her.”

  “We certainly should not, not yet at least!” Holmes retorted. “If Van Helsing has manipulated her, it is because of worse things than jealousy. The Harkers came into this story before meeting Van Helsing. They came unexpectedly into money, due to the death of Jonathan Harker’s employer and his suspiciously generous will, before Van Helsing set foot in England. They knew of Seward, Morris and Lord Godalming independently of Van Helsing, at least by name and, most importantly of all, they knew Lucy Westenra. It was Jonathan Harker who first cast doubt on Dracula’s humanity when he asked, ‘What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of a man?’

  “No, Watson, I do not believe for a moment that Mina Harker is entirely a wronged woman. I believe she was already party to a crime, which Van Helsing discovered through reading her correspondence with Lucy. Her jealousy and willingness to throw her husband to the wolves came later, along with the question-mark over his fidelity. Whatever she is doing in Whitby, I am sure it is of great interest to us.”

  “So you want to travel to Whitby now, I suppose?”

  “I have been prepared to do so since yesterday morning. Really, Watson, you ought to keep abreast of developments. Thankfully I had a bag sent ahead to an inn there.”

  “You mean we aren’t returning home first? Holmes, I have a practice, patients, I cannot simply…”

  “Then it is well that I need you to visit the telegraph office. You can wire your colleague and then send a telegram for me while you’re about it.”

  “To what end?”

  “Wire Inspector Bradstreet by urgent reply. Have him communicate my credentials and a glowing endorsement to the Exeter constabulary. I shall visit them presently and arrange for a policeman to keep an eye on Miss Reed until our business is brought to a conclusion.”

  “And what will you be doing while I’m at the telegraph office?” I said, somewhat affronted by being sent on an errand, and rather cross at the prospect of more unexpected travel.

  “I shall remain here and keep watch for fair-haired German men,” said Holmes. “Never let it be said that Sherlock Holmes is not a man of his word.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Letters Between Miss Kate Reed, Miss Lucy Westenra and Miss Mina Murray

  * * *

  The following letters have been reproduced here in chronological order. Upon the advice of Holmes, especially with regard to the more sensitive, personal aspects of the letters’ content, I have endeavoured to reproduce only the most pertinent paragraphs.

  Letter, Lucy Westenra to Kate Reed, 3 May 1893

  My dearest Katie—

  Of all the strange things! I confess I have not heard from dear Mina nearly half so often as I should like—she has only written to me once since we all left school. But to think she is experiencing such excitement! What must it have been like to have Jonathan visit her at the school while you were there? Honestly, Jonathan Harker has always been the most oafish, self-centred of men when it comes to the feelings of girls, as you and I can both attest. You are saintly in your restraint, and an excellent friend to Mina through it all.

  You were right to say you should have asked her permission before disclosing such juicy titbits to me, but it is done now, and I shall be the pillar of discretion. I shall write to her this very week, under some pretext, but I swear I won’t let on even in the slightest that I know of her engagement to Jonathan. After everything that happened between the two of you, even so long ago, it would be in poor taste to say I’d heard the news from you. I am glad you have both managed to put the matter aside for the sake of your friendship—a man like J is hardly worth quarrelling over. I have no doubt Mina loves him very much, but if, as you say, she really did encourage him to take this trip to advance his career, I half wonder if she did it to have some peace from him for a while. I can think of no further place than Transylvania to send such a frightful bore—I must stop using slang like that, Mother would be most cross with me. And how sly of Mina to gain the confidence of Mr Hawkins so! Clever, too—she is much more level-headed than I could ever be. How delightfully wicked of her, don’t you think?

  I shall keep this letter short, my dearest, I hope you can forgive me. But we shall see each other at the concert on Saturday anyhow. You can be a scurrilous gossip then and tell me all about Mina and the other girls!

  Please do not breathe a word to Mina of my feelings toward Jonathan—not that you would speak to her about him, of course—but I do so want us all to get along when next we meet. And I shall have more news of my own regarding a certain gentleman, I am sure.

  Your loving friend,

  Lucy

  Letter, Lucy Westenra to Kate Reed, 10 May 1893
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  My dearest Katie—

  I must chide you, at least gently, at the start of my letter, for I received correspondence yesterday from our friend Mina, and it seems you have been telling tales about my courtship with Mr Holmwood. You are such a young minx, and I shall tell Mina so!

  But oh, I forgive you, for I am sure I am in love and that is all that matters. Mr Holmwood—I shall call him Arthur hereafter—often visits Mother and me, and they get along famously. He is the kind of man who just understands things, if you know what I mean. He sees the part that I must play, and he is always considerate to console me about it. I almost envy Mother sometimes, for she can talk to people whilst I have to sit by like a dumb animal and smile till I find myself blushing at being an incarnate lie. And it is so silly and childish to blush, and without reason too. Arthur understands though, he plays his part and I mine, until those sacred moments when we may be alone together, and he whispers sweet nothings to me like the gentlest soul, though with none of the forwardness of a certain friend of his—the American you met at the Pop. He is trying to woo me now in his strange way, and I really do wish you had not rebuffed him so at the dance, for he is now my third suitor and it is all most exhausting.

  And yet, it is perhaps lucky for you that you did reject the advances of Mr Morris, for although he is a kindly soul, and most gentle with me, I am sure he is roguish beneath that façade of colonial manners. He and Arthur—who he calls “Art”—have been abroad together many times on hunting expeditions, and I have heard whispers of their exploits in foreign ports that make one’s toes curl! But none of that matters, for I shall make an honest man of Arthur and ensure he goes no further astray with the likes of Mr Morris. Whatever his past, Arthur is noble, tall, curly-haired, and true.

  I do go on, I know, but only because I am so undeservedly happy, don’t you see? I hope with all my heart that you do not begrudge me this happiness, for I am giddy with it. I know that men have not been kind to you, especially the one that now courts our mutual friend. Your goodness makes up for all of us if you bear no ill will to either of them.

  But gosh, I am almost forgetting to tell you the real juicy news. You know how you mentioned Mina’s ambition regarding the law practice that Jonathan works for? Well, you were absolutely right. Mina went on at some length about how she is completely in the confidence of Jonathan’s employer, Mr Hawkins, who now dotes upon her like a daughter. Honestly, she has such plans, for Jonathan to become a partner in the firm, and so young—she positively didn’t even mention his long trip overseas. I daresay she is not missing him at all, and I can’t say I would either, he’s such a bore! Oh, I wrote it again, but I shan’t cross it out.

  I wrote to you earlier that our American friend, Quincey Morris, would have made you a fine match. Well, I said a similar thing to Mina, about Jack—Dr Seward, I should say. Remember him? You should! He’s a doctor at the lunatic asylum now, so I do hope Mina forgives me that little jest at her expense! He’s an eccentric sort, who used to play cricket with Arthur, and travelled a little with him and Mr Morris, although I don’t think the rugged life is really for him. He’s still madly in love with me of course, but he’s not the sort of man I could ever take as a husband.

  Anyway, I have written much of myself again, and it is a testament to how good you are that you never take me to task for it, even though it is an unbecoming habit. I am inviting Mina to Whitby for the summer, and I hope you will come too. I am not so self-centred in person, and you can tell me all about your life as a schoolmistress, and any scandalous affairs you may be embroiled in. It shall be like old times, the three of us gossiping late into the night!

  Ever your loving Lucy

  Letter, Mina Murray to Kate Reed, 26 May 1893

  Dear Kate,

  It has been long since I have put pen to paper to you, and it seems awkward given our proximity, but I think this will be easier to say in writing.

  I know that I have been the subject of some gossip about town, and I am sure you know very well why. You must surely know by now that our school is a small place for news, and that the walls themselves have ears—it was you, after all, who set loose the word about Lucy’s curly-haired suitor. As a result, I am equally sure that you would not again be the cause of such mischief, and I would hope that you should defend me against tittle-tattle, as any dear friend would.

  On the subject of friendship, I have written recently to dear Lucy, who I know has invited you to come and stay with us in Whitby over the summer. I would humbly beg that you stay away for a time, perhaps completely, as I have much to confide in Lucy about Jonathan—my betrothed—and of my anxiety about his business abroad for so long. I should so hate for you to feel at all uneasy about the conversation, given the history that we have so magnanimously put behind us up to now. There is more, of course, for I am not so selfish as to cause upset on purely my own account. Though I am loath to betray a confidence, I must be cruel to be kind. Lucy is secretly afraid of what might happen should the three of us come together—she and I have both recently had our hearts swept away by virtuous men, and at such a delicate time when passions run high, the appearance of a single woman in need of a man may play unfairly upon the impulses of a certain Arthur Holmwood. I am sure you would not wish to be the cause of any anxiety on Lucy’s part, however inadvertently, especially given her history of poor health.

  I know it will be disappointing for you not to see Lucy and myself this summer, but I am sure you agree it will be for the best. I would so hate for any strain to be put on our long-standing fellowship.

  M

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE GENTLER SEX

  It was with no small sense of relief that we alighted from the train and made our way out of the busy little station at Whitby. It was already dark when we emerged onto a thoroughfare. Even from this urban prospect, the chilly sea air blew in from the mouth of the Esk, bringing with it a salty tang and the crying of gulls.

  “I suppose you intend to don some foolish disguise now and take up a room in the very crescent in which Mina Harker stays,” I said.

  “Preposterous, Watson. I have secured a room in the Angel hostelry, just across the road there.” Holmes waved his cane to indicate a modest-looking hotel with a peeling and faded biblical scene upon its sign.

  “It is certainly too late to go calling on a lady now, Holmes. We should dine and rest, and pay her a visit in the morning.”

  “Indeed not!” remarked Holmes. “We must strike while the iron is hot. If you must eat, there is an excellent kipper stall just down that hill, if I remember rightly. But we must refresh ourselves and then be on our way.”

  “What’s the hurry?” said I.

  “On the train were two tall, fair-haired gentlemen, far too well dressed for the third-class carriage that they occupied. They travelled so to avoid our notice, but I most certainly noticed them! I doubt we shall reach Mrs Harker before they have a chance to warn her of our arrival, so there is no point in trying. However, we must interview Mrs Harker before she has the opportunity to receive instruction from Van Helsing.”

  “Why, he has humbugged us, Holmes.”

  “Not yet, I should hope. Our business here should be concluded before Van Helsing’s spies are able to report back to him.”

  “These are the self-same men who accosted Miss Reed then?” I asked. “They strike me as the dangerous sort.”

  “Perhaps, Watson. And so it is lucky that I took the liberty of packing your service revolver.”

  * * *

  The cliff-top guest house stood in a tree-lined avenue, somewhat sheltered from the worst of the elements and undoubtedly picturesque during daylight hours, but was now strangely sinister. Everything about us was still, even though just a couple of hours earlier the entire town had been bustling with traders and day-trippers. From our vantage point we could still see the fishermen’s cottages upon the East Cliff, and hear the tolling of buoy-bells beyond the harbour. A purplish haze hung over the distant horizon,
providing enough colour to throw the skeletal remains of the nearby Whitby Abbey into relief.

  Holmes took the steps to the front door of the house and rapped firmly upon it. I scanned the street in both directions furtively, half expecting two German men to leap out at us from the shadows at any moment.

  Before long, we heard the sound of a bolt being drawn back, and the door creaked open a little, so that a wrinkled, grey-haired woman could peer out at us suspiciously.

  “Good evening, madam,” Holmes said cheerfully, doffing his hat. “I apologise for the lateness of the hour. I am Mr Sherlock Holmes, and this is my associate, Dr Watson. We have come on a matter of no small urgency, and must speak with one of your guests, a Mrs Wilhelmina Harker of Exeter. May we come in?”

  The woman looked formidable, and in many ways reminded me of Mrs Hudson. Our own landlady, however, would not have stepped aside quite so easily as Holmes, with a broad smile and courteous bow, entered the hall before she could utter a word of protest. I followed, rather embarrassed, as Holmes handed the flabbergasted woman his hat and coat.

  “Thank you, my good woman,” he said.

  “Well,” said she, “all the years I ran this house, and never did I think it would come to this so sudden. From landlady to housekeeper in one fell swoop; first the other fellow, and now you. I shall be glad to see the back of the old place, and I never thought I’d say it.”

  “Am I mistaken, Mrs—?”

  “Dryden,” she snapped, “and most likely you are.”

  “You are not landlady at this guest house?”

  “It’s not a guest house no more. It is sold, and I’m only here under sufferance until I find somewhere to go. Not that anyone cares…”

  “And who is the owner now, Mrs Dryden? Surely not young Mrs Harker?”

  “She’s the mistress now, sure enough, although it’s some foreign fellow who’s bought the place.”

  “And you did not wish to sell, I take it?”